


Hypothesis

by hoorayforgatiss



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Romance, admitting feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1202989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoorayforgatiss/pseuds/hoorayforgatiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes seems to be acting quite different as of late, and John Watson is having none of it. He dives in deeper to find that Sherlock has got a case of the 'love bug'. Sherlock tries to convince him otherwise, but the ending is inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypothesis

**Author's Note:**

> Little Johnlock fluff one-shot for you all. I hope you enjoy! :D

"John, where is your laptop?" Sherlock paced around the flat looking for a computer sitting in the middle of the coffee table. 

"Sherlock, you clot, it's on the table. Jesus, for being the observant one, you can't see worth shit." John puffed and returned to his newspaper. 

Sherlock walked over to the table in front of John and picked up the laptop. John had long since gotten over the way Sherlock constantly used his stuff as if it were his own. It was normal, now, and frankly, if John were to argue with Sherlock over something, using his laptop would not be the thing he would argue about first. Sherlock scowled in his direction and the slumped in his chair. 

"You know, John," Sherlock began, "I could be using my own laptop. Instead, I'm using yours. How does that make you feel, John?" Sherlock picked and nipped at John, itching for a fight. 

"You know, Sherlock, I don't much care. The sooner you finish a case, the sooner you start to comprehend daily life. What's gotten into you? You usually aren't this daft." John finally folded his paper as a signal of defeat. He wasn't going to be reading it any time soon. 

"Nothing has 'gotten into me', John. I'm perfectly fine. Just a little distracted with this case, is all," Sherlock lied. He turned his gaze away and refused to look even in John's general direction.

"Sherlock, nothing gets you in this bad, not even a case. What's wrong?" John shifted towards the edge of his chair, shifting his knees into a 90 degree angle.

"Nothing, John! Your brain wouldn't understand! If mine doesn't, no one's will!" Sherlock scowled and returned to stooping in his chair. His dressing gown fluttered beautifully over the back, and John stared at the way the satin shined. 

"Okay, Sherlock, my puny brain won't understand anyway, so why don't you tell me?" John was getting frustrated, but he was still trying to behave sympathetically towards Sherlock, no matter how insufferable he may get.

"I, I can't, John," Sherlock seemed to break, "I don't know. I don't know what it is, just being around for the past few weeks has been torture. I see... things all the time."

"Things?" John interrupted.

"No, John, not schizophrenic things. I mean, I see things differently. 'In a different light' now. Something that has happened, recently, mind you, has caused my mind to turn to utter mush. This case should have been solved days ago!" Sherlock scrambled to his feet, the wind from the abrupt movement causing the papers on the table to scatter across the floor. 

"Sherlock, calm yourself, you git. You have no idea what you're rambling about," John sighed. He was used to Sherlock's antics, but he really wasn't prepared this morning. "Sit down and tell me your...symptoms. I am a doctor, you know."

"Fine," Sherlock grumbled. "I get lightheaded and my heart rate increases dramatically when I hear certain sounds. Usually they are the clinking of tea mugs or laughter. I feel nauseated and worried when you walk in the door from a long day at the clinic where you've faced death. It's in your expression, and it drives me to near-vomiting. When I hail a cab, you get a look in your eye, complete and utter adoration at how I seem to conjure them up. I feel proud and accomplished. When you look at me after bringing home takeaway only to find an experiment covering the kitchen countertops, I feel like the world is going to fall through. I don't understand, John, I feel so...ordinary."

John chuckled, "Well, Sherlock, you aren't a super human. As much as you like to deny it, you do have feelings. What sounds to me as a case of the love-bug, Sherlock Holmes. You've got s crush!" John giggled to himself silently, at least for a while. Who was it that Sherlock had mentioned in all that, again?

Oh no. Oh, lord, no. Sherlock definitely did not have any interest in John. He couldn't! Sherlock was far too great for John, far too...Sherlock for John. There was no way Sherlock-bloody-Holmes was in love with John-fucking-Watson. 

"Really, John? Have we moved to the schoolyard? I am not 'in love' as you say; I have no one to love." Sherlock decidedly looked away from John. 

Could he really be that clueless?

"Sherlock, think about it, okay? Use that big, old brain of yours and figure it out. Narrow it down, the game is on!" John grinned and let a small huff of laughter escape his lips as Sherlock glared at him with ice for eyes. 

"Yes, yes, John. Leave me to my palace." Then, Sherlock flipped onto the sofa and entered a state of what looked like comatose, but really, he would only be gone for a few hours studying up on 'love'.

John dumped his tea in the sink; after all, it had grown chilly. He paced around the kitchen, slowly gathering old plates and mugs that had yet to be washed. It was the proper time to tidy, and he was going to make the best of the silence that always followed Sherlock's entry to his mind palace.

"Hey Jude, don't be afraid...doo doo doo doo, dah bah dah bee dada dah," John hummed. He loved that song, as his mother used to hum it whilst she cleaned. He found himself doing it all the time when Sherlock was 'gone'. "For well you know that it's a fool, bah doo, dat dah..."

"John?" Sherlock sat straight on the sofa.

"Doo dah dee bee dum...oh, yes?" John had let the dishes splash down into the sink filled with scalding hot, soapy water. 

"Please, stop with your humming." Sherlock held his temples with his thumb and forefinger. 

"I thought you liked The Beatles, Sherlock." John giggled to himself as he grabbed the sponge from the side of the sink.

A ruffling sound emitted from the living room, John suspected Sherlock had turned over on his side, however, a gust of cold morning air swept over John's bare ankles. 

"I do enjoy that particular song, John, but you make it incredibly hard to concentrate."

"You could block my screaming out of your mind palace if you desired to! What's so different about this?" John stamped his foot and threw the sponge into the water.

"I enjoy your humming quite much. I much prefer to listen to that than the constant running of my brain, but if I am to get anywhere on this case, I must do the thing that is, at the moment, not the most pleasurable option, I'm afraid." Sherlock was standing quite close to John, sandwiched between the table and countertop, there was hardly room to breathe.

Suddenly, Sherlock clutched the table behind him. He turned abruptly and shuffled his way into his bedroom chanting, "No, no, no, no, please no, no, no," the whole way.

Sherlock had finally come to his conclusion.

Later that evening, Sherlock finally appeared from his bedroom only to find John on the sofa watching re-runs of Doctor Who and having some biscuits and tea. 

"It seems the creature lives! Welcome, sunshine." John tutted at Sherlock's disheveled clothing and hair, not to mention the wrinkles in his shirt and trousers.

"Oh, ha ha, quite the comedian, John. I have just had a traumatic emotional breakthrough and you make jokes?" Sherlock obviously was not prepared for this realization, and John quickly apologized.

"Sherlock," John huffed, "look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. You've been holed up in there all day; since morning, Sherlock. Are you okay?"

"I'm. Fine." Sherlock grimaced and grit his teeth.

"You are obviously the complete opposite of fine. Come tell Dr. Watson how he can cure you." John tempered his voice to his babying voice that he only used when he had to give shots to small children or Sherlock was in a bad mood. 

"You can't fix me, John. You are the illness! How could I have not seen it? You are like the plague! You branch out and love everyone and treat everyone with such respect and kindness; you accept me for who I am, not to mention you put up with my incessant whining and complaining, experiments, and worst of all, my behavior on days like these!"

"I like days like these," John retorted.

Sherlock stared at him blankly, but then shook his head and turned his attention to the screen. He plopped down in his chair, but soon was uncomfortable trying to contort his body to squish in the small space.

"Move over," Sherlock breathed.

"What?" John looked at him with a smirk of unbelieveable shock.

"Move, I wish to sprawl out and relax whilst I watch what you classify as general entertainment." Sherlock manually picked up John's ankles, which blazed at Sherlock's touch, and moved them temporarily to the side so he could sit. 

After several minutes of shuffling, struggling, and wiggling, John finally got up to go and refresh his cuppa. Sherlock took advantage and got himself situated on the sofa. 

When John returned, he used his best captain voice, "Nu-uh. Scoot, my spot, mate." 

Sherlock groaned and wriggled his way down not to leave enough space for John to sit. 

"Come on," John sighed. 

"Murgh," Sherlock griped.

John retrieved the Union Jack pillow from his chair and beat Sherlock over the head with it once. 

"Move, you git. I wanna rest." John thwapped him a couple more times on the small of his back, and Sherlock instantly shot up and gave John the most menacing look. 

"John, do not ever touch the small of my back." Sherlock glowered at him, awaiting a response similar to 'yes, sir.'

"Why? Oh, dear heavens, is Sherlock Holmes ticklish?" John grinned and wriggled his fingers playfully at the curly-headed mass in his seat. "I guess I'll just have to move you forcefully."

John dove in with his fingers, attacking the small of his spine and the indent of his waist.

"Jo-John, st-stop it! Haha, John! I'll-I'll mur-murder you!" Sherlock writhed under John's touch, and eventually turned into a giggling pile of goo.

Sherlock slithered to the floorboards and continued to resist giving up. Through his laughter, he managed to flip up so his stomach was parallel to John's, so john could no longer reach his back, but his sides were still fair game. 

"If you so much as think about placing your hand on my hip, I'll smite you, John Watson." Sherlock huffed, trying to regain his breath. 

"Oh, really?" John dived in! He pinned Sherlock's legs with his own as he straddled Sherlock's thighs. John's giggle was ringing through the flat, and the sound was simply intoxicating.

"John, no, st-stop. I'm feeling faint... your laugh," Sherlock only managed to breathe out the last syllable before he was out on the floor cold.

"Sherlock? Come on...Sherlock?" John prodded at Sherlock, but to no avail. He lifted Sherlock princess-style (he was surprisingly lightweight) and set him on the sofa. He left the room to fetch a blanket and returned with that and a glass of water. 

Sherlock's eyes scanned the room and found John finally reading that day's paper in his chair next to the fire. He had his cuppa and he had slipped on a jumper over his button up, too. He looked cozy, and all Sherlock wanted to do was run over there and jump in his lap to snuggle.

"Ah," John said, "you're awake. I was beginning to get worried. You can't go days without eating or sleeping and engage in a intense tickle-fight." 

"I'm pretty sure there was a certain doctor who recommended the situation," Sherlock grinned. 

John returned to reading his paper and Sherlock stood to go make himself a brew before he settled with his violin. On the way towards the kitchen, however, he spotted a Union Jack cushion sitting lazily on the counter. He snuck behind John's radar and snatched it up. He crept behind his identified target and then-

"Thwump." The pillow made a dull sound and John turned to find his flatmate crouched behind his chair holding a decorative pillow over his head. 

"Oh," he growled, "this is war, Sherlock!"

John barreled around the chair, but Sherlock evaded him, knocking him over and keeping the pillow within his grasp. He began to 'thud, thud, thud,' at John's chest until-

"Whoop! Ah-"

John had twisted himself around and flip-flop him and Sherlock's respective places. He took the pillow and held it way high above his head, as if to make the final blow to Sherlock, and dropped it. He let it fall to the floor with a soft sound and just sat, knees on either side of him, staring at Sherlock's face.

John swooped in and bent to kiss him. Sherlock, surprised at first, soon took control and was fisting his fingers into John's hair. John had taken a hold of Sherlock's jaw, and just when he thought he was comfortable, Sherlock pulled away.

"I've confirmed my hypothesis, John." Sherlock blankly stated. 

"And what might that be?"

"That I am completely, utterly, and hopelessly in love with my flatmate." Sherlock grinned and let out a silent laugh. 

"It appears I am in the same boat, Sherlock Holmes."

"Let us hope we will run experiments then, yes? To further prove our hypothesis." Sherlock wickedly grinned at John who only returned the look.

"Yes, and I do believe the controlled lab in in your bedroom, is it not?"

John got off of Sherlock and stood, offering his and. Sherlock kindly took it and pulled John into his bedroom.

It appeared that the case wasn't going to be solved any time soon.


End file.
